Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/True Love

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For works with similar titles, see True Love.
For other versions of this work, see True Love (Coates).

TRUE LOVE

TRUE love is not a conquest won,
 But a perpetual winning;
A tireless service bravely done
 And ever new-beginning;


Gold will not buy it for to-day
 Nor keep it for to-morrow,
From Pleasure's path it turns away,
 To make its bed with Sorrow.


White, Aphrodite, are thy doves,
 But 'neath their snows are burning,
Undying flames, and he who loves
 Aspires with flame-like yearning:


Aspires unto a far-off bliss
 Whose vision makes him younger,
And moved to rapture by thy kiss,
 Still for thy soul doth hunger!
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